


Canary in the Coalmine

by lesbianophelia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, TiMER (2009)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Capitol arranged marriage, F/M, Grumpy Katniss, In Panem AU, No Games AU, hesitant Peeta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She traces the timer on her wrist without even thinking about it. It’s not counting. Of course, it’s not counting. She zeroed out at midnight – the official start of her husband’s eighteenth birthday. Her sister stayed up with her, wanting to be there to see the numbers end. Maybe it’s a nervous habit now. It’s supposed to be comforting. Or at least, it used to be comforting, when she was smaller and the numbers were bigger. They had seemed infinite. </p><p>For the last week – or month or year, depending on how you look at it – she’s only been made nervous by the numbers. Not that worrying helps."  </p><p>In Panem AU where marriages are controlled by the government and everything else is left for the couple to figure out by themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She traces the timer on her wrist without even thinking about it. It’s not counting. Of course, it’s not counting. She zeroed out at midnight – the official start of her husband’s eighteenth birthday. Her sister stayed up with her, wanting to be there to see the numbers end. Maybe it’s a nervous habit now. It’s supposed to be comforting. Or at least, it _used_ to be comforting, when she was smaller and the numbers were bigger. They had seemed infinite.  
  
For the last week – or month or year, depending on how you look at it – she’s only been made nervous by the numbers. Not that worrying helps. It’s just like her mother and sister. How they wanted to come to the Justice Building early so that they could meet Katniss’ other half and make sure she would be okay that night and every night afterwards. There was absolutely nothing they could do about it if Katniss wasn’t going to be okay. They like to fool themselves, though, and so does Katniss.  
So she pretends like it’s just a normal day when her sister starts to bounce her leg and asks “Where _is_ he?”  
  
She nudges Prim in the arm with her elbow. Tries to look more wounded than she is, just so her sister will know she’s kidding. “In such a hurry to get rid of me, Little Duck?” she asks.  
  
Her joke is met with silence. Her family is taking this whole thing more seriously than she is. This doesn’t come as a surprise to her. She would have worn her jeans today. Intended on it, honestly, because what’s the point of trying to sell her husband on a version of herself he’s never going to see again? It’s not like it’ll ever change the outcome. He doesn’t even have to _like_ her. That’s nowhere in the rules. Her mother and sister made such a big production out of it, though, pleading with her to wear the dress her mother wore on her eighteenth birthday. She was only going to get married once, after all, and of all the things to look nice for, this, they claimed, was it. Katniss reluctantly agreed to try it on, and they claimed that it was a sign that it fit. It didn’t even fit. Not really. The dress, judging by the picture Katniss has seen of her young mother and father, went down to her mother’s knees when she wore it to the Justice Building. Katniss isn’t particularly tall, so that translates to this awkward length partway down her shins that makes her look even shorter than she is.  
  
She wore it, though, to make them happy. Just like she let them pin her hair to her head in this updo that’s going to take her forever to figure out how to take down, and just like she let them try to show her how to run a household. As if any of them would have been there at all if Katniss didn’t know how to keep things running. She made sure not to express that, though, because she knew as well as they did that she had precious little time left being an Everdeen, and she certainly didn’t want to waste it by arguing with them. So she coasted through the last week, making less trips out to the woods than she ought to have just so that her mother could tell stories and give advice about what it was like to be a young wife and what Katniss ought to know. Just so that Prim could remind her of the fact that Gale turned out okay, and everyone knows how hesitant he was about the whole thing. Katniss knew that, too. Probably much more than her sister knows. But she didn’t fight with her, just nodded in meek agreement that everything would end up fine.  
  
“You would think he would be here by now, is all,” her sister continues, and she wonders if maybe she thinks Katniss was being serious. She doesn’t make the mistake of trying to turn it into a joke this time. Besides, her sister has a point, no matter how ridiculously early they were, their noon appointment is approaching quickly, and they wouldn’t let Katniss sign in without her husband present. She wonders what would happen if he just didn’t come. Rationally, she knows that the Peacekeepers would probably hunt him down. He’d be whipped or made time to spend time in the stocks, just to prove a point. But would they punish her? Would they force her to marry someone who so clearly didn’t want to be married to her? Most likely, yes. But she’s wondering if maybe this is how she can get out of this when the Justice Building doors creak open. There goes that theory, then.  
  
Peeta Mellark’s eyes widen a little bit when he sees her. It takes away from the way he’s been put together today, with the styled hair and slightly-too-big suit. He glances around the Justice Building, looking at the clock and at the empty bench across from the one Katniss and her family have occupied. She doesn’t blame him for checking, really. Kids from Town are almost unfailingly matched with other kids from Town. He was probably expecting to find some nice girl like Delly Cartwright here waiting for him, not _her_. He finally looks back at her, and he’s just wet his lips and moved as if to say something when her timer starts to chime.  
  
It’s louder than she expected it to be. She’s never really heard one go off before, and it makes Peeta Mellark flinch too, so maybe her reaction is to be expected. His timer joins in, filling in every space that hers leaves off. It lasts much longer than either of them expects it to. She can tell because she keeps thinking it’s over and he keeps trying to talk and clearing his throat. Prim gives her a shove, and she’s not sure why this is the sort of thing one is supposed to stand up for, but it seems like it is, so she takes her sister’s unspoken advice and stands a few feet away from him while they wait for the song to end. She surprises herself by being the first to speak.  
  
“I don’t think I caught that.”  
  
Peeta laughs, reaching up as if to run his hand through his hair and then thinking better of it, grabbing at the back of his neck instead. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his hairstyle before the picture is taken. She doesn’t blame him. Though it does remind her how irritated she is with the way her hair is pinned up today. “Well, first I was going to ask if you were here for the noon signing, and then I was going to say that I _was_ going to ask that but obviously you are.”  
  
She nods. Prim clears her throat, as if Katniss wasn’t already planning on shaking his hand. Does she honestly think that she wouldn’t be able to do this on her own? Prim must be particularly anxious for what’s going to happen when they’re left alone. She holds her hand out. “Um, yeah, sorry. We are. I’m Katniss Everdeen.”  
  
Peeta laughs but takes her hand anyway. “Yeah, I know who you are, Katniss. We had a ton of classes together.” Then, looking slightly unsure, he clears his throat. “I’m Peeta Mellark.”

“I know,” she admits, and then lets go of his hand, a little mortified. She hopes he doesn’t notice the way that she wipes her sweating palm on her dress. The last thing she needs is to look nervous or weak today. Or ever, really, she guesses. She’ll start with today, though. “This is my mother, and my sister, Prim.”  
  
He introduces himself to them as if he thinks they weren’t listening before. Which she guesses is probably a better first impression than it would be if he had just assumed that they heard. Does he really think that there’s anyone in District Twelve that doesn’t know who he is? Especially with the extra rumors that have been circulating about him. Her stomach knots in on itself when she remembers what she had heard. She had assumed his birthday passed ages ago, and that his family’s ultimatum was largely exaggerated.   
  
“Prim,” he says once he’s made sure that they both know how good it is to meet them. “That’s short for Primrose, right?”  
  
Her sister nods eagerly.  
  
“We put those on cakes at the bakery. Made of frosting, I mean. They’re some of my favorites.”  
  
Prim laughs, suddenly shy.  
Katniss thinks of her sister, only a few years younger, stopping to look in the windows of the bakery every chance she would get. Remembers staying there as long as Prim wanted, or until Mrs. Mellark tried chasing them away with a broom, complaining about _dirty seam brats leaving fingerprints on her clean windows_ even though Katniss always made sure her sister never touched the glass.  
She wonders if Peeta knows about that. Is that what Prim is remembering, too? Or is she just overwhelmed at the idea of a boy talking to her? She can’t tell.  
  
“What grade are you in, Primrose?” he asks, and Prim starts to talk about her first few days in the high school building. He responds with an anecdote about his first experience there, or, well, the beginning of an anecdote, because then Katniss notices the line that’s forming at the desk and clears her throat. He looks over at her, trailing off. She doesn’t want to interrupt him, because her sister is practically eating out of the palm of his hand, but she knows that she has to.  
  
“I think it’s time,” she announces, and Peeta doesn’t argue with her, just glances over at the other side of the room and nods. He says his goodbyes to her family, assuring Prim that high school isn’t as scary as it seems, even if it is more work, and then stands off to the side to allow her space while she says her goodbyes. This is something they’ve done maybe five times already, this group hug between the three of them. Her sister is sniffling, and Katniss wills herself to be strong.  
  
“You’ll be okay,” she says, half to her sister and half to herself. “I’ll see you again soon, all right? I’ll make Peeta come visit.”    
  
  
  
“I like that dress on you, by the way,” Peeta says as they head for the line. “I should have said something earlier.”  
  
She shakes her head, because it isn’t a big deal, and sort of pulls at the bottom of it. “It was my mother’s. Doesn’t fit right.”  
  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Peeta says with a smile. “I know what you mean, though. This suit was my father’s. And my brother’s. And then my other brother’s. And I think it went to a cousin at some point, too. I caught a lucky break when Rye stained the undershirt and I got to have my own. I’m pretty sure it’s the only part that fits right.” He pinches at the extra fabric around his shoulders, as if trying to prove his point.  
  
She’s probably supposed to smile or laugh or do something, but all she can really manage is a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat that she supposes might be able to be interpreted as a chuckle. Maybe her sister is slightly better at this than she is.  
Either way, he’s silent until they reach the front of the line and get sent to the small room where they’re meant to sign their paperwork. She still doesn’t understand, even being inside it for the first time, why her family couldn’t be allowed to come back with them. Unless it was a capacity issue, in which case, surely one or two of the Peacekeepers stationed in the room could find something better to do. She can’t remember the last time she’s heard of someone trying _not_ to sign. Maybe this is why, though. The guns would make it pretty hard to run.  
  
So, for this moment, it’s just her, Peeta, a couple of Peacekeepers, and the attendant, who thrusts a bunch of paperwork at Peeta when he tells him their names and then turns back to whatever it is that he was doing at the computer. Katniss gets a glance at it and thinks that it looks like some sort of animated card game. It wouldn’t surprise her. This job isn’t particularly labor-intensive.  
  
Peeta takes two pens from the little cup on the counter and holds them out to Katniss so she can have first choice, and then he starts to divvy up the paperwork until they have stacks that look like they’re about even. She prepared herself for a lot of signing, based on the warnings she got from well meaning folks that noticed how close she was getting to the end of her countdown. The amount of paper is no surprise, really.    
  
What she didn’t prepare herself for, though, was a familiar name scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting on the space marked _father_ on her birth certificate. Her breath catches in her throat and she runs her fingers over the ink. It’s too old to smear, of course, but there’s something oddly comforting about the indentations on the paper. She had wanted so badly to wear his jacket today, but her sister told her she looked pretty without it and somehow convinced her to put it in the box that the Peacekeepers brought to her new house today. Wherever that is. Peeta is moving much more quickly than she is, so she signs it in the space that’s been left for her and moves on, hoping that maybe she won’t have to see the name _Peeta Mellark_ anywhere near her father’s name. She’s not sure she could handle that today, though there is a spot for _spouse_ that’s been left empty for him.  
  
The Capitol claims that the matches are made before either party has reached the age of five. Katniss isn’t entirely sure that they don’t just pull the names from a ball, no matter how many documentaries she’s had to sit through in school about the process.  
Peeta slides his stack over to her when he’s finished, and she hands hers over as well. This is when she gets her first glimpse of his handwriting. It’s much nicer than hers. Flowing and elegant. Cursive. She didn’t realize people actually _used_ cursive other than when they’re forced to for school. Peeta does, obviously, she must have a lot to learn about him. Maybe about kids from Town in general.  
  
She doesn’t have too much time to dwell on this, though. There’s a house to sign for, her name to change, a packet to collect. _Katniss Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen, Katniss Mellark_.  
Her pen stumbles on the second L, but other than that, she manages to make it through mostly unscathed. Peeta chuckles beside her and she looks up, surprised to see that he’s been watching her. She knew her handwriting wasn’t quite as good as his, but she can’t figure out why he would laugh.  
  
“Sorry. It’s just _Katniss Mellark_. I never would have thought,” he explains.  
  
“Oh,” she says, studying it for a moment and wondering how in the world it’s ever going to look anything but alien. “Me neither.”  
  
“It sounds nice,” he announces, and she has to study him to make sure he’s not kidding. “What?” he asks. “It does. I like it.”  
  
She doesn’t argue. There’s no point, really. Peeta gathers the paper up and taps the stack on the desk to straighten it before he hands it over to the attendant, who asks if they’ve _activated_ yet. They both shake their heads and Peeta is told that he may _now kiss the bride_ , but he doesn’t.  
  
Instead, he just stands there and stares at her for a long moment, eyes going from her lips to her eyes. Katniss can hear the attendant tapping his nails against the desk, waiting for them to do something, and thinks of the Peacekeepers in the corners of the room before she steps forward, closes the space between them, and practically mashes her lips against his. She doesn’t think herself to be a particularly good kisser. For a few reasons, one being that what she just did to Peeta kind of hurt her face, and another being that she hasn’t had much experience. Granted, Gale had kissed her a few days before he signed his paperwork. But that was almost even worse than this kiss. He was angry and she could tell.  
  
Her lack of experience doesn’t seem to bother Peeta too much, though. His breath hitches, and his eyes are closed by the time their timer starts to sing that song again. They both know better than to pull away before the music is over. He smells like cinnamon and something else that she can’t place. She wonders if maybe he was baking before he left for the Justice Building. He’s kissing her back. She can’t help but to think that she might be thinking too much. He’s much more gentle than she had been. She thinks that he’s smiling a little. Is that allowed? Can you smile when you kiss someone?  
  
Once it’s finally over, they pose for a photograph and get offered a flat _congratulations_ and a thick envelope that contains everything about their new lives. Peeta hands it to Katniss as they’re ushered out through the back door, and Katniss can’t help but to notice the fact that his timer now proudly displays _Katniss Mellark_ instead of a row of numbers or dashes. That should make him happy, considering how good he thought the name sounded. Katniss, on the other hand, feels slightly lightheaded at the sight of it.  
  
She goes to sit down on the steps, and Peeta stops her with a hand on her arm. She jerks away from his touch, but he just pulls his jacket off and sets it down so she can rest on it. “Like I said,” he explains when he sees her looking at the jacket. “It’s a nice dress.”  
  
He has a point. And normally, she would tell him not to bother, but Prim will want to wear this dress when she gets married, and Katniss doesn’t want to ruin it, so she thanks him and sits down. It’s raining, but the little awning over the steps protects them from it. She wonders if maybe they would be able to wait it out. Peeta sits down on the other side of the steps, making sure that there’s enough room between them for someone to be able to leave if they had to. He’s in no hurry to get going, in fact, he lets out a deep breath that almost makes it seem like he’s as exhausted by this whole thing as she is. She opens the envelope, pulls the piece of paper with the keys attached out, and decides that she won’t be the one to tell Peeta where they’re moving. She’ll let him it read it for himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

He’s coated in coal dust. His clothes are particularly dirty, but she knows that he can take those off, so she’s a little bit more concerned with his face.  
  
“I drew you a bath,” she informs him. “I didn’t know when you would be back, but it should still be warm. Call for me if it’s not, and I’ll heat up more water.”  
  
He’s practically unrecognizable as a Mellark boy. Until he smiles at her. She can tell how tired he is, because it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it at least makes her feel like she made the right decision. “Thank you, Katniss,” he says. His eyes wander over to the squirrels she’s been working on. “I’ll, um, I’ll be out as soon as I get all of this off. Hopefully it won’t be too long.”  
  
“No hurry,” she says. She had determined that she wouldn’t be a housewife, but she has the meal finished by the time he gets out. He slumps a little bit in his seat, but straightens up when she sets one of the Capitol-supplied plates in front of him.  
  
“Thank you,” he says.  
  
“Was the water still hot?” she asks. It probably shouldn’t matter as much to her as it does.  
  
“Yes, it was perfect,” he says.  
  
Perfect. Well, that’s good to hear. He’s been pretty unreadable ever since they first walked into the house. Other than how clear he made it that he didn't want her in the mines, she hasn’t been able to figure him out.  
  


* * *

  
 “You made the bed,” she says when she comes back in after changing out of the wedding dress. There’s no point in not at least trying to be friendly, and even though what she said was obvious, Peeta seems pleased that she said it.  
  
“Yeah.” He runs his hand through his hair, effectively messing up the careful style it had been in. “If you wanted to use yours, don’t let me stop you. I just figured I might as well make myself useful.”  
  
“No. These are good,” she says. She didn’t have sheets to bring in the first place. He doesn’t seem to have an extra pillow, but she’ll survive until they manage to scrape things together enough to get one that she can use. She had one at her old house, but she left it with Prim. She left most everything with Prim. “Thank you.”  
  
He nods and flops down onto the bed. It’s a relief that he seems exhausted, too. But then he blows out this deep, long sigh that makes her uncomfortable. She doesn’t want to sit on the bed with him just yet, so she sits facing the bed with her back against the wall.  
  
“Yes?” she asks, because he’s making her nervous and whatever it is that he doesn’t want to say, she’d much rather hear now than later. He doesn’t sit up. Doesn’t want to look at her while he says whatever it is he needs to say. She wonders if he got someone pregnant, or something.  
  
“Is it safe to assume you’ve heard the rumors?” Peeta asks.  
  
“I don’t gossip,” she says, her voice far too harsh. He sits up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender.  
  
  
“Okay. I just thought . . . well, to be honest, I was hoping you’d have already heard so I’d be spared from this.”  
  
“From what?” She’s trying to be patient, but she’s getting genuinely nervous.  
   
“Well, um, there have been some rumors floating around. You know, the bakery was already passed down to my brother and his wife, and . . . well, living in Town makes you an easy target for gossip anyway, but, yeah, that got a little out of hand. People thought, well, people were saying that my family was going to abandon me – or whatever – if I wasn’t paired with a woman who was . . . well, you know.”  
  
“A woman from Town.”  
  
Katniss _has_ heard those rumors. Plenty of variations of them. She always tried not to put too much stock in them, for Peeta’s sake. What an awful thing, being disowned for something  he had no control over.  
  
“Essentially,” Peeta agrees. “Um, that’s not the case. Or, at least, not exactly. Dylan and his wife did get the bakery. But, well, it wasn’t a matter of who I married. I just knew I wasn’t going to have a job at the bakery once I turned eighteen. It’s, well, I don’t know how it got out.”  
  
She suspects his witch of a mother has something to do with it. “Why not?”  
  
“There weren’t enough jobs. At least, when I was living there, they didn’t have to pay me full wage. They could include my board in it.”  
  
That isn’t right, charging him rent. It’s not like he could have moved out even if he wanted to.  
  
“But, yeah. I didn’t want you to feel like you had been mislead, marrying a Mellark and then having him go off to the mines the next day.”  
  
She doesn’t know how to respond to this, at first. “So, what, you don’t think I expected that?” she asks.  
  
He blinks at her, but she’s not going to back down. Just what is he insinuating about her? That she asked to be married to a kid from Town?  
  
“I’m going there, too,” she adds. “First thing  tomorrow.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Peeta says, his voice quiet. It sounds like he’s concerned, though, and not like he doubts what she can do. “There’s no way you’d be happy there.”  
  
She snorts. There’s no way she’d be happy? He cares about that? She’s been waiting until her stupid husband’s eighteen birthday because nobody would hire her without a husband. “That doesn’t matter.”  
  
He frowns. “So, what? I’m just supposed to rob the District of their best hunter?”  
  
She rolls her eyes at the praise, because he’s disguised it well enough that she wants to keep fighting. She wonders if he did that on purpose.  
  
“Everyone would hate me, Katniss. Everyone. Frankly, I don’t think I could forgive myself if you ended up in there because of me.” It’s quiet. They’re just staring at each other, now.  
  
“I won’t be a housewife,” she announces, surprising herself with her boldness. She crosses her arms at him, but Peeta just laughs.  
  
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he says. She’s surprised – and a little bit ecstatic – that it worked.  


* * *

  
“How was your day?” Peeta asks.  
  
“It was good,” she answers, even though it feels sort of wrong to admit that.  
  
“Good,” he says.  
  
She doesn’t want to tell him much more, but she does. She leaves out the part where things were so normal in the woods that she was startled by his name on her wrist. “Sae says congratulations.”  
  
“Sae?” he asks. “She has a stand at the Hob, right?”  
  
She nods. “She was a lot easier on me than she usually is when we trade. Said it was a wedding gift when I tried to argue.”  
  
“Did you trade with my father?” he asks. She thinks maybe he’s trying not to sound very interested, but it’s not working very well.  
  
“Your brother,” she answers. “Your father was busy. Dylan said it was time he figured out how to trade with me, anyway. But he traded for rabbits. So, that was strange.”  
  
“Did he say anything?”  
  
“Oh, right, sorry,” she says. “He saw your name, I think. Said to tell you congratulations. And that they miss you around there. That was all, I think.”  
  
He nods, thinking about this. She regrets mentioning it. They turn in not too long after that. More for his sake than for hers. Like last night, he tries that she should take the pillow. She won’t, though. It’s quiet and dark and she’s pretty sure he’s asleep.  
  
  
“Did you hate it?” she whispers.  
  
The words hang there in the silence for a long moment. He sighs a little bit. “Yeah. Sort of,” he whispers back. “But I was glad you weren’t in there, too.”  
  
She swallows hard. She’s glad she wasn’t there, too. But she doesn’t tell him that. Doesn’t feel like rubbing it in. “Why?” she asks instead. She should let him sleep.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta'd, because it took me a million years to get around to writing this and I'd feel bad for making you guys wait any longer.

She trades with Gale, sometimes. It’s nice to have the chance to see him. He hasn’t been able to spend much time in the woods since he and Madge were Paired. Of course, Mayor Undersee wouldn’t allow his son-in-law to be put in the mines, so he was given some job at his office.   
  
Katniss still isn’t entirely sure what it is, but she does know that it involves him taking over the trading. And that he’s serious about it. When Gale was the one with the goods, he drove a hard bargain. He’s only slightly less persuasive now that he’s on the other end. And it’s almost like it pains him, having to see how cheaply he can buy the strawberries. But Katniss doesn’t mind. She sells to Madge, too, and Madge isn’t trying to impress Mayor Undersee, so she gets a little bit extra there that she knows must really be from Gale. Which isn’t to mention the fact that her pregnancy cravings have made her nearly the perfect customer. Buying everything from rabbits to strawberries depending on what sounds good.   
  
“How’s your husband?” Gale asks on Tuesday, the first time she’s made it out to Mayor Undersee’s house. “Peeta Mellark, right?”   
  
“You know him?”   
  
“Eh. Saw him around Town a couple of times, before. Madge was friends with him. You didn’t answer my question.”   
  
“He’s fine,” Katniss says.   
  
“But he’s not at the bakery?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“And you’re not in the mines.”   
  
She nods. Gale purses his lips, thinking about this for a moment.   
  
“Common theme in Town, isn’t it?” he asks. “Though, I can’t exactly say I’m complaining.”   
  
Of course he’s not complaining. Madge didn’t take his place in the mines.   
  
“I’ll see you next week,” she says. “Gotta get the rest of these to Madge.”   
  
He smiles. “I know. She’s looking forward to it. Tell her I said hi. And that her dad wants me to work late tonight.”   
  
  
“Oh, I was hoping you’d be by soon,” Madge says when she opens the door. Katniss is glad that she saved the majority of the berries for her. “Come inside. I was just making some tea.”   
  
She doesn’t want to. But the Hawthorne house _is_ the last stop on her route, and she knows that the few friends she has are concerned about her. So she takes her up on the offer, and passes on Gale’s message once they’re at the little table. Madge frowns.   
  
“My father seems intent on working him to death lately. Probably wants to get everything he can done before the baby comes.”   
  
“When are you due?” Katniss asks, because the longer she can keep the conversation on them, the less time she’s going to have to spend talking about Peeta.   
  
Madge has to think about it for a moment, her hand coming down to rest on her belly. She’s only just starting to show. Gale was delighted when she finally ‘ _popped’_ and he didn’t have to worry about hiding the fact that she was pregnant from anyone. “Four months or so, I think. We’re not sure when the actual conception was, but . . .”   
  
Thankfully, she trails off. That’s more than enough information for Katniss. She can’t even figure out why the two of them would have _wanted_ to try to have a baby. They’ve only been married for a year and a couple of months, now, and there’s nothing telling them that they had to have children.

She wonders if she’ll have to talk to Peeta about this. Have to explain that she never wants children.

“I need to see your wrist,” Madge announces, taking Katniss’ hand and twisting it a little bit, nodding when she sees the name. “What do you think of him?”   
  
“He’s nice,” Katniss says.   
  
“I heard he went to the mines. How is he handling that?”   
  
“Fine,” she says, even though it’s mostly a guess. He doesn’t want to talk about it at all, if he can help it. She tries particularly hard not to push him, but it’s difficult. They spend so few hours together, anyway, she doesn’t want them _all_ to be unpleasant.   
  
The sun is close to setting when she gets home. She’s sort of startled when she sees someone sitting on the front steps, but it’s Peeta. She doesn’t think he’s been inside yet, if the coal dust is any indication. Good. She didn’t have the chance to run his bath. He moves over a little bit, as if to make room, and she joins him on the bottom stair.   
  
“Sorry. I was out later than I thought I would be,” she says.   
  
“That’s fine. Is everything okay?”   
  
“Yeah. I was just visiting with Madge and got a little bit sidetracked,” she says, and he nods.   
  
“She’s pretty pregnant by now, isn’t she?” he asks. “My mother was so jealous that Mrs. Undersee was going to become a grandmother before she was.”   
  
She wants to say that she’s surprised that his mother would want to have grandchildren, but she doesn’t.   
  
“You don’t have to stay out here with me. I just . . . sorta wanted to see the sunset.”   
  
She stays with him anyway.   
  
  
  
Peeta’s shoulders are starting to hunch forward by the end of the week. She knew that the mines would be hard on him, but she didn’t expect for the light to start to leave his eyes. She’s heard about this from her mother, plenty of times. The miners would come to their house with nothing visibly wrong, and her mother would shoo Katniss and Prim away.   
  
When Prim got a little older, a little bit more apt to help, Katniss finally got an explanation, too. About how the miners could get depressed after being in the dark all day long. They could offer counseling or special medicine, but the only thing that really worked was _sunlight_. And, of course, there isn’t too much of that to spare in Peeta’s schedule. She wonders if she’s ever going to be able to stop feeling guilty about it.   
  
She’s visited with her family once or twice, and Prim has asked how he’s _adjusting to being in the mines_. She didn’t mention how she’s nervous about him, just said that she was grateful that he was willing to do it. Prim seemed to think it was particularly _romantic_. Katniss hadn’t thought about it that way.   
  
  
It’s during his bath on Saturday night when she has the idea. She won’t be able to get much hunting done, but she’s had a relatively productive week, and since she doesn’t _have_ to support both of them with her trips to the woods, she can spare a day where they just gather.   
  
Normally, she works on dinner while he bathes, and he steals a few moments on the bed if he gets finished early enough. She tries to let him. But she doesn’t, tonight. She just waits on the bed. She’s not sure why she’s as surprised as she is when he comes out of the little bathroom in nothing but a ratty towel around his waist, but she is. It takes everything in her to look away rather than to cover her eyes.   
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t expect you to be in here.”   
  
“Tell me when you’re decent.”   
  
He sort of laughs. She scowls. At least she’s _entertaining_ him. “Okay. I’ve got my pants on. You have nothing to worry about.”   
  
She supposes she doesn’t. She forces herself not to look away while he looks through the drawers for a shirt. “Um . . .” her idea suddenly seems silly. If he’s so tired after a day at the mines that he’ll take three minutes in the bed when he can get it, why is he going to want to take a _walk_ with her tomorrow. “I was going to ask what you wanted me to make for dinner.”   
  
“Oh.” He tugs the shirt over his head. “I’m okay with whatever. I’m not picky.”   
  
He isn’t. And he seems to think that she’s a much better cook than she is.   
  
  
That’s the first night where they really get to talking during dinner. She asks what he likes to do, and drops hints about the woods. He tells her that he’s always liked _drawing_ , and that he knows how silly it is, but that art has always been something he’s been interested in.   
  
It _is_ silly. But she doesn’t tell him that. Just listens while he talks about trying to hide his art from his witch of a mother and his well meaning father. About drawing on the backs of tests and essays, and on his desk during school. She resolves to show him the plant book tomorrow, because he’s far too tired by the end of the meal for her to feel any good about keeping him up.   
  
He insists on helping with the dishes, though. They’ve had the chance to get into a pretty decent rhythm, these last few days. She washes and he dries the dishes off and puts them away. He mentions that the foreman on his crew said he makes a good miner, and she knows that it should make her happy, but it makes her sad, instead. Peeta should never be in the mines.

 

She sneaks out to the woods while he’s still sleeping. He stirs a little bit, but doesn’t wake up. She hopes to be out and back by the time he wakes up, but she’s not half so lucky. He’s behind the house when she comes back, shirtless again, and chopping wood for the fire. At first, she’s concerned about why he’s shirtless on such a chilly day, but he’s nearly glistening with sweat. She watches him for a moment before she can help herself.   
  
Does he know how much she hates doing it? She doesn’t think she’s mentioned it, and she’s been very careful not to complain about doing things around the house. And now he’s spending the morning of his day off working on a chore. She swallows hard, throws her bag over her shoulder, and stalks out towards the hob, more resolved than she was when she gathered the berries to complete her task.   
  
It’s a little hard, trading for paper. She ends up getting an idea and heading for Town, instead, and asking Rooba if she can trade for some of the butcher’s paper. Rooba certainly doesn’t mind giving her paper in exchange for game. She ends up with a whole roll. It’s a little bit big for her bag, so she carries it in one hand on her way back to the Seam. She can’t believe how cold it is for the fall. Peeta has a fire going when she gets back to the house, and she’s relieved.   
  
“Hey,” he says, turning to look at her from his spot in front of the fireplace. “I was starting to get worried about you.”   
  
“Sorry.”   
  
“Productive day?”   
  
She nods. “I got you something.”   
  
“What?” he asks, standing up. “You didn’t have to do that.”   
  
She shakes her head and thrusts the roll out towards him. His eyebrows furrow, but when she passes the little pouch of berries over, he seems to understand a little bit more. “For your art. I’ll try to find some graphite, but for now –”  
  
“This is amazing. Thank you, Katniss,” he says, giving her the most genuine smile she’s received since they’ve been married. “I love it.”   
  
She can’t help but to smile back. He carefully cuts some of the paper off and sets it on the kitchen table, and she helps him to mash the berries into a paste. She didn’t think to find something for brushes, but he doesn’t seem to mind using his fingers. He draws what must be some sort of water with the different shades of blue, and she thinks again of bringing him out to the woods. Of showing him her father’s lake.   
  
“You’re good at this,” she says, and he actually blushes a little bit.   
  
“My dad used to give me stuff to keep myself occupied with in the bakery when I was little. To keep me out of mother’s hair, mostly, I think. But I used to get to draw in there. He had this book, and it was of all these pictures around Panem. My favorite was to try and trace the picture of the ocean.”   
  
“The ocean,” she repeats, nodding. She was right, then. When he’s back in the mines the next day, she tacks it to the wall. He seems pleased, even if he does try to convince her that she didn’t have to do that.   
  
  
The next week is better than the first. He’s too exhausted to use them much, but she manages to make him smile when he sees the new colors she’s found or mixed together for him. It keeps her week busy, finding time to see what she can trade for.   
  
“Do you want to do something tomorrow?” she asks the next Saturday.   
  
“Do something?”   
  
“I thought . . . maybe, if I showed you the woods. . . You wouldn’t have to get up early. We could just go whenever you woke up.”   
  
“That sounds nice,” he says, surprising her with a smile.

 

He’s a little hesitant to go through the weak spot in the fence, so she goes first and holds it up as high as she can for him. He crawls under, and she can’t help but to watch his reaction. Once they’re a little further into the woods – she has to all but drag him, because he’s already amazed and they’re not even into the thick of it yet – she lets go of his hand and watches the wheels in his head turn as he looks at all of the trees.   
  
“Wow,” he breathes.   
  
“Do you like it?” she asks. “I just thought, with all the time you’ve been spending in – at work, you’d like a change of scenery.”   
  
“I do,” he says.   
  
“Are you up for a walk?” she asks. He nods, and they make the trip to the lake. It isn’t her father’s lake, so it isn’t half as long of a walk, but it isn’t very big, either. She’s going to have to show him the other one, eventually.   
  
They sit at the shore, because it’s far too chilly to swim, and he just leans back on his hands, like he’s trying to soak up as much of the sunlight as he can. She can still see flecks of coal dust in his blonde hair and resolves that she’s going to have to see what kind of soap she can trade for in the Hob.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....warning for descriptions of a wound, for the blood squeamish.

Peeta has been working in the mines for almost two months when the explosion happens. She’s in the middle of a trade with Gale when the alarm sounds, and then the both of them are sprinting towards the mines.   
  
He holds her back when they see the rope strung up, because something inside of her is screaming out to run towards it.   
  
“Catnip,” Gale says. “You’ve gotta calm down.”   
  
She glares at him. “I have to –”   
  
She doesn’t know what she has to do. Something.   
  
“He’s _in there_.”   
  
“I know,” Gale says. “He’ll be fine.”   


* * *

  
  
She hadn’t realized how brave Peeta is. She should have, considering the beating he took to give her the bread all those years ago, but somehow, it just didn’t hit her fully until a few weeks into his job in the mines. When she realized how hard he was trying to _not_ act completely exhausted.   
  
But he can’t hide it forever. And especially not from Katniss. She’s the one that’s saying goodnight to him earlier and earlier every night. The one that’s making him eat on the nights where he’s too tired to want to finish his meal.   
  
The worst night is about a month into his job. When dinner is ready but he hasn’t come out of the bath to eat it. He hasn’t come out of the bath at all. She tries not to be nervous, but a glance over at the clock confirms her suspicions. He’s been in there far too long. He should at least have gone to the bed by now.   
  
She knocks on the bathroom door, but there’s no answer. “Peeta?” she calls. Nothing. She tries to push her panic down and eases the door open. And there’s Peeta, knees poking out of the water because the tub isn’t long enough for him, still-dirty head hanging back over the side. “ _Peeta_!” she calls again, more loudly this time.   
  
His head snaps up. She can’t help the relieved sigh that comes out. “Hey,” he says, looking a little embarrassed. _Of course he’s embarrassed_ , she thinks, _you just walked in on him in the bath._ “Sorry. Guess I fell asleep.”   
  
“Guess so,” she agrees. Thankfully, the water is murky enough that she can’t see . . . anything . . . that she doesn’t want to. She picks a wash cloth up out of the basket on her way by and kneels in front of the tub, dipping a corner in the water and then bringing it up to his cheekbones to try and wipe some of the coal off. “I was worried,” she says, because it feels like she needs to be talking to him. “Your dinner was getting cold.”   
  
“Sorry,” he says again.   
  
She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. But if you’re this tired, Peeta, you can’t try to hide it from me anymore. I mean – _ugh_. I’ve been dragging you out to the woods on your days off. Making you hike with me. There’s no way that’s helping.”   
  
“Stop that,” he says. “I look forward to Sundays.”   
  
She shakes her head. “Don’t say what you think I want to hear. This is never going to work if we can’t be honest with each other.”   
  
He sort of smiles at her. “I mean it. I think about it all the time. It really is an improvement, you know. All that sunshine. And the colors. . . and you.”   
  
She rolls her eyes. “Put your head under the water. We need to wash your hair.”   
  
He complies. They don’t talk much more after that. While she works the soap through his hair, he comments that it feels good.   
  
“I’m going to get some fresh water. Let some of that stuff out, please.”   
  
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. She has to make a couple of trips to make sure that the water from his hair runs clear.   
  
“I know,” he says. “I’m a mess.”   
  
“Nothing we can’t fix,” she assures him.   
  
He laughs.   
  
“What?” she asks.   
  
“Nothing. It’s just . . . Katniss _Mellark_ , my _wife_ . . . here. _Bathing me_.”   
  
She sighs. “Yeah. _Katniss._ Your _wife_. Bathing you, ‘cause she stuck you in the Seam.”   
  
“Don’t,” he says. “I’m . . . This is where I wanna be, Katniss. Honest.”   
  
She excuses herself not long after that to get his clothes for him. “Do you need more water?”   
  
“No. I’m good,” he says. “Thank you.”   
  
She nods. She tries not to think too hard about it, but while she goes through his drawers, she can’t help but to think about what he said. _This is where I wanna be._  
  


* * *

  
  
Gale finally lets go of her when the peacekeepers have the rope strung up to keep the well meaning family members out. Like _her_ , she supposes, even though it’s a strange thought. He stays by her side, though. They were among the first to get there, so they end up getting pushed forward as the others fill the area in front of the mines. She clutches the rope for a moment, but a memory of her mother doing the same is enough to make her pull her hands away as if they’ve been burned.   
  
The elevators are screeching, burning up and down their cables as they dump smoke-blackened miners into the light of day. It’s freezing, but she barely trusts herself to move to try to work some heat into her bones. She’s stuck in her spot. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.   
  
She’s reminded of the relatives that always stay at her mother’s house while their loved ones are being worked on.  This is the first time she’s ever really understood it. The miners are in worse and worse states the more slowly they’re retrieved. 

* * *

  
  
 Prim was every bit as taken with him after the marriage ceremony as she was at the Justice Building that day.   
  
Katniss can see why. The conversation at dinner is easier that night than it had been in _years_. Peeta tells stories about growing up at the bakery, and even Katniss finds herself laughing. Prim talks about what Katniss was like as a kid, and Peeta talks about seeing her in class.   
  
She had forgotten that she sang The Valley Song that first day in school, but Peeta didn’t. To hear him tell it, all the birds outside stopped to listen. She actually feels a little bit embarrassed, but she corrects him. Says that he’s silly and that that’s what they used to say about her father.   
  
“Oh, I know,” he says. “But it’s true for you, too. I swear.”   
  
She rolls her eyes. Prim titters, no doubt thinking that this is _romantic._  


* * *

  
  
It’s sunset by the time she sees him. She’s tracing the timer on her wrist, shivering in the cold and at the thought of it going blank like her mother’s. But that stops as soon as she sees him. Only recognizable mostly because of the way his eyes widen when he sees her.   
  
She can’t help herself. She dives under the rope before Gale can stop her, all but throwing herself at him. He falls backwards, groaning in pain. She pulls away instantly.   
  
“Hey there,” he says weakly, looking up at her.   
  
“We need to get you to my mother,” she decides, looking down at his leg. The blood is seeping through his pant leg, and she feels a little sick. He lets her help him up, but has to lean on her heavily. Gale comes to help, slinging Peeta’s other arm over his shoulder. Peeta is barely even walking, but he’s still managing to limp.   
  
“Your mom’s house?” Gale asks. “You don’t think it’s gonna be busy.”   
  
She frowns. “Probably gonna be packed. We’ll bring him back to our house and then go get Prim.”   
  
Gale nods. Peeta glances between the two of them, a little bit confused. There are tears leaking from the corners of his eyes that she can only really see because of the path they cut through the grime on his face. “You’re crying,” he says around the same time as she notices that he is. “Don’t cry.”   
  
Is she? She reaches her free hand – the one that’s not slung across his back – up to wipe at her face roughly, and sure enough, it comes away wet.   
  
“I’m fine,” he says. It isn’t very convincing. Gale insists that he’s got him so she can get the door open. She clears the table off as quickly as she can, and Gale sets him down. “Really.”   
  
“I’ll get your sister,” Gale says. She nods, putting a pot of water on the stove to boil. They usually want boiled water for some reason or another. To sterilize strips of cloth for bandages.   
  
She cuts the leg of his pants and gingerly removes it. They both suck in a breath when the wound is exposed to the air.

“You’re looking a little green, there,” he says, as if he’s doing much better himself. “You know, you’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal person.”   
  
She swallows hard. “I know. But Prim’s coming. She’ll fix you up.”   
  
“Mm,” he says. “I’m tired.”   
  
This makes her frown. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to sleep yet. Do you want to tell me what happened?”   
  
“Not really,” he says. “But it was . . . something fell. Pierced through me. I guess. I shouldn’t have been there.”   
  
“It’s not like you had a choice.”   
  
“Sure,” he says, but it’s unconvincing.   
  
“Peeta.”   
  
“We were trying to pull Thom out,” he admits, and she closes her eyes.   
  
“Of course you were.”   
  
“We got him,” he says. “He’s in much worse shape than I am. Really.”   
  
She grits her teeth. “Do you have to be so _good?_ ”   
  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, and she thinks she’s onto something, because at least he’s awake now.   
  
“It is when you’re constantly getting hurt for it.”   
  
“I don’t know if I’d say _constantly_ ,” he argues.   
  
She brightens up a little bit when Prim bursts through the door and takes over. She comes stand by his head, brushing his hair away from his eyes. He looks up at her, squinting as if it’s hard to focus. “Well, there’s this,” she begins, mostly to get his attention back. She’s supposed to be distracting him, right? “And that’s not even to mention that damn bread. It’s like you _want_ people to spend their lives owing you.”   
  
“Owing me?” he repeats, eyebrows knit together. “ _Oh._ No. Don’t . . . that wasn’t anything.”   
  
“Of course it wasn’t. And neither was this, right?”   
  
“Well . . . this sorta sucks, but . . .”   
  
Prim glances up at her, eyebrows raised. She probably shouldn’t be picking a fight with him just to keep him awake, then. She surprises herself by singing. She runs through nearly every song she knows while Prim gets to work. She sings The Hanging Tree while she cleans his face. Gale comes in about halfway through, and looks at her strangely for a moment, but then gives a set of vials to Prim.   
  
“From Madge. Or, well, her mother. But she doesn’t have to know that. She said it should help. With Peeta and the others.”   
  
“Thank you,” Katniss says. Peeta’s relief is obvious when Prim injects him with what they call _Morphling_ , and he starts to get particularly tired, but she goes back to singing until he’s completely asleep. Prim tells her how to keep his stitches clean.   
  
“He should make a full recovery,” she says. “You’re lucky. He’s much better than some of the miners at the house.”   
  
“Thank you for coming,” she says, and her sister nods.   
  
She only stays for a moment longer, but it’s enough for her to steal a long glance at Peeta. “You really do like him, don’t you?” Prim whispers.   
  
Her jaw clenches, but there’s no point in denying it, really. Not after today.   
  
  
And especially not after she sleeps in the kitchen with him that night, head resting on the table, fingers tangled together with his.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> descriptions for rescuing the miners taken from Mockingjay. The bath scene came from a conversation with WistfulWeaverWoman on Tumblr. And my headcanon Katniss doesn't deal with stress so well.


	5. Chapter 5

She wishes that it wouldn’t be completely selfish to ask Prim to stay at the house with them. Peeta isn’t even that bad, really. He could have lost his leg. Or worse.   
  
The idea of _worse_ probably shouldn’t make her feel the way it does. But the fact of the matter is, when Peeta starts to whimper in his sleep, she feels ridiculously close to crying again. Especially when his eyes blink open and then widen at the sight of her preparing the syringe.   
  
“What are you still doing out here?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.   
  
“You need more morphling,” she says. He frowns. “What? Do you not like it?”   
  
“I like it plenty,” he assures her. “Makes everything nice and fuzzy. But you should be in bed.”   
  
“I’m fine,” she assures him. It’s a little hard to steady her hands enough to inject him. She’s still so shaken from earlier.   
  
“Come on. One of us should get some sleep,” he insists. “It’s not like I’m very good company like this.”   
  
“Stop it,” she says. “I’m not leaving you.”   
  
She can’t. The little bit of sleep she managed to get was fitful in a way that she knew wasn’t related to how uncomfortable the sleeping position is. “Why not?”   
  
“Just try and get some sleep,” she says. “We’ll try and move you to the bed tomorrow.”   
  
He nods.   
  
  
Early in the morning, while he’s still sleeping, his brother pays them a visit. It’s the first time any other Mellark has been to their house, but that doesn’t matter much. Rye tugs his knit cap off and drags a hand through his hair.   
  
“Is it true? About Peeta?”   
  
“Depends on what you’ve heard,” she says. He tries to push past her, but she doesn’t move from her spot in the doorway. “He’s still sleeping.”   
  
“I won’t wake him,” he promises. “I just . . . he’s my baby brother. You’ve gotta let me see him.”   
  
Does she really feel so protective of him that she’s going to try and keep his brother from him? She nods. “He wasn’t even hurt in the initial blast, so far as I can tell. He said the injury itself happened when he and a few other guys went back for the foreman.”   
  
Rye shakes his head and pulls a small bag from his coat pocket. “Kid looks like hell. I heard . . . well, honestly, all I knew was it was the leg. But I brought bandages. And rubbing alcohol. And I know it’s not much, but –”  
   
“Thank you,” she says.   
  
“Stitching isn’t bad,” he comments, lifting the rag Prim covered the wound with. “You do this?”   
  
She shakes her head. “My sister.”   
  
“Well, keep it clean. The alcohol should help with that.” He sets the bag down on one of the chairs and then moves as if to leave.   
  
“He shouldn’t be asleep for too much longer, if you want to stay.”   
  
He looks down at him regretfully. “No. Busy day ahead of us. But we heard, and we wanted to do what we could.”   
  
Peeta stirs a little. She doesn’t know why she expects that to change his brother’s mind. It doesn’t.   
  
  
She waits until he’s awake to get to work cleaning up the stitches. She’s glad she did, too, because even though she’s positive he was awake when she started, he looks a little confused.   
  
“Your brother stopped by. Brought us some bandages and rubbing alcohol,” she says. “So, that should make it easier.”   
  
“Why did you stay?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse. He clears his throat and then tries again. “Last night. Why did you stay?”   
  
She owes him an answer. Owes herself one, too, maybe. But instead, she focuses on his leg. “Think you’re up to put some weight on it today?” she asks. He nods, and she helps him to support himself while he brushes his teeth, but then gets a little shy when she realizes that he might have other things to do. He must be able to notice this.   
  
“I’ve got it from here,” he decides. She doesn’t believe him. That must be obvious. “I’ll . . . when I’m finished, I’ll knock. I know I can make it in here, but I may need a little more help getting to the bed.”   
  
She nods. Then, when she decides it might be strange to linger by the door, she moves to the bedroom, keeping an ear out while she makes the bed and puts the pillow on his side of the bed. Hopefully he’ll sleep more. She wouldn’t mind getting a little extra sleep, herself.   
  
He has his hands washed by the time he calls for her, and she thinks he may have washed his face, too. But he’s not looking very good. He’s pale as a sheet, and judging by the way he leans against her, he ‘s not feeling too strong, either.   
  
He groans a little bit when she helps him up into the bed. That settles it, then. She gives him another shot in the arm before she settles in beside him.   
  
“Looks pretty bad, huh?” he asks. “I was hoping maybe it didn’t.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Prim fixed you up last night. Remember?”   
  
His eyes take on a faraway look. “I might,” he admits, lying back a little.   
  
“You _might_?” she asks. “What does that mean?”   
  
“There’s a lot about yesterday that doesn’t exactly add up,” he admits. “I might ask you to fill in a few of the blanks. Things about singing, for instance.”   
  
Her cheeks shouldn’t be half as hot as they are. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?” she asks.   
  
“Well, if I’m not supposed to worry about the leg, it’s either _that_ or about how much work I’m gonna have to miss with this thing.”   
  
“Don’t,” she says. “We’ll be fine.”   
  
“Yeah, but I’ll have plenty of catching up to do when I go back.”   
  
“ _Back_?” she asks.   
  
“Yeah. I bet they’ll find a way to have us help rebuild, or something.”   
  
“No,” she says, maybe a little bit too forcefully. His eyebrows flick up. “You’re not going back.”   
  
“It’s not like –”  
  
“ _No_ ,” she says again. “You’re not going back. You can’t do that to me.”   
  
He swallows hard.   
  
“We’ll think of something,” she insists, and then joins him in the bed, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead.   
  
“Does that at least mean you’re gonna answer me about the singing?” he asks. “Because I’m starting to think it was some kind of a fever dream.”   
  
She sort of laughs. “You were having a hard time. I just thought . . . you know.”   
  
“I’m not exactly complaining, Katniss,” he says. “Do you have any idea – just . . . the thought of you _singing_ to me. What? Like, ten years ago? I’d have died.”   
  
He’s loopy from the medicine. Or the pain. Or some combination of the two.   
  
“Wake me if you need me, okay?”   
  
“Will do,” he says around a yawn of his own. “Hey, Katniss?”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Thanks for waiting for me yesterday.”   
  
She chokes out a little noise that she hopes could be interpreted as a laugh. It can’t. Peeta is frowning.   
  
“Hey,” he begins.   
  
“I don’t cry,” she says, half expecting for him to laugh at her. Because clearly she has been crying a lot recently. More than she has in _years_. Maybe even since her father’s death.   
  
“I know,” he murmurs.   
  
“Of course I waited,” she returns after a moment, when she knows she can trust her voice. He’s asleep already, though. Good. She hesitates and then thinks about what her sister said. “I _like_ you,” she whispers, wondering if she’s supposed to feel so embarrassed about it.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple of chapters left!


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re gonna have to go eventually,” Peeta says. “Don’t worry about me. I mean . . . how much trouble can I get into around here?”   
  
He has a point. She never traded the rest of her game the day of the explosion, and the supplies in the icebox are wearing thin. They should be given supplies on the next train, to make up for the work Peeta will have to miss with his injury, but she’s not counting on it being enough to _actually_ keep them going.   
  
“Are you sure?” she asks anyway.   
  
He nods. “I’ll be fine. Probably just sleep the whole time.”   
  
She sort of smiles. He _has_ been sleeping a lot. Especially since they’ve started weaning him off of the morphling and switching him to sleep syrup – she traded a shirt for it at the Hob, but the bottle was half empty already. That’s another thing she’ll have to add to her list. “Well, okay,” she says. “I’ll see you later, then.”   
  
“See you later,” he echoes. When she walks by, Peeta reaches out to take her hand, and she feels strangely nervous when he brushes a kiss against her knuckles. It’s so . . . intimate.   
  
She supposes maybe it should be intimate. Hasn’t she spent these last few days tending to him? Washing him and caring for him? But now so much more _present_ in these moments, it’s strange.   
  
His hand moves and he slips a finger to the inside of his wrist, tracing her timer. She watches him, because he’s so focused on the timer. But he doesn’t say anything, and it makes her feel anxious for some reason.   
  
“I’ll see you later,” she reiterates, even though she doesn’t exactly want to move.   
  
  
  
For someone who hasn’t come to visit at all, his brother Dylan has a lot of questions.   
  
“I must get asked fifty times a day, and I never know what to tell ‘em,” he says.   
  
“Wow. Must be hard for you,” she deadpans, and he falters.   
  
“I just . . . things are so busy here. I haven’t had the chance to go visit. But I am thinking about him.”   
  
It infuriates her. Knowing how much Peeta loves people, having guests would probably brighten his day to no end, and yet they’re perfectly content to just stay in Town and ask her questions while she trades. At least Rye gave them the supplies. His questions about whether or not they worked were warranted, and when he gave her a fresh bottle of sleep syrup with their trade, she was glad she was patient. And cutting ties with the bakery wouldn’t be a smart move, as far as trading goes. So she nods politely. “You aren’t the only one that hasn’t been out to see him,” she says. “But you can tell them that Peeta is on the mend. I’m taking care of him.”   
  
He nods. “Okay. Thank you, Katniss.”  
  
“I really should be getting back,” she says “I’ll tell him you asked.”   
  
“Thank you,” he says again.   
  
  
  
“He’s okay?” Gale asks.   
  
She nods. “On the mend.”   
  
“Good,” Gale says.   
  
They conduct the rest of the trade in silence.   
  
  
  
Madge gets all teary-eyed. But Katniss is pretty sure that’s from the pregnancy hormones.   
  
“Gale told me about your reaction. At the mines,” she says. “Oh, Katniss. I’m so glad that you like him. He deserves it. A wife that loves him. Especially if it’s you.”   
  
_A wife that loves him_. She doesn’t disagree. Peeta does deserve that. But is that her?   
  
  
The people at the Hob have their own families to deal with. Their own injured miners. It’s good to not be pitied for his sake.   
  
  
“Stitches are looking good,” she says before bed that night.   
  
“And you say you’re not a healer,” Peeta says, propping himself up on his elbows to look at her. She shakes her head.   
  
“You’re giving me too much credit. Who knows where we’d be without your brothers supplies and my sister’s instructions.”   
  
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come _on_ ,” he says. “You’re way too hard on yourself.”   
  
It’s quiet.   
  
“You know, Katniss, I am so glad it’s you.”   
  
“I wish –” she’s going to tell him more. About how it should have been some nice Town girl that he’d never have to get hurt for in a million years, but he shakes his head.   
  
“No. Stop,” he says. “Just . . . you working on me like this. Being patient and putting off trips to the woods . . . saying you like me.”   
  
She ducks her head in embarrassment. “You heard that.”   
  
“It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like you, too.”   
  
“You’re –”   
  
“Please don’t argue with me,” he says, interrupting her again. “I don’t think you’ve got _any_ idea how hard this is for me to say. I like you _so much_. And I always have. _Always_. Ever since the first day of school. When you sang the Valley Song and every bird outside the window stopped to listen.”   
  
The Valley Song. She barely remembers singing that, but Peeta clearly does. He continues after that, words running together a little bit in his nervousness, talking about his father wishing he had been paired with her mother, and how he couldn’t ever work up the nerve to talk to her.   
  
“It was a real piece of luck, you know. You being the one to be there at the Justice Building,” he says. “I mean, I’m not quite as pleased about this whole leg thing. But I think it’s worth it. I mean, if the worst I get includes the girl of my dreams nursing me back to health. . .”   
  
That’s when she kisses him. Partially because she has no clue at all what she’s supposed to say, but also because she really, _really_ wants to. He seems to want to, as well. He laughs a little bit, almost disbelieving, but he kisses her right back.

It’s only the second time that they’ve ever kissed – and the third time that she’s been kissed by anyone at all. It is the first kiss out of all of them to make her want _more_. The first one that starts a warm fluttering somewhere deep in her stomach.   
  
“Whoa,” he whispers when she pulls away, and she laughs. “Yeah. Starting to think this is all a dream.”   
  
“Shut up,” she whispers.   
  
“You’re good at that.”   
  
“You’re not too bad, yourself,” she says. “How many times have you done that?”   
  
He hesitates. “Is that a trick question?” he sort of laughs. “Um, I guess I never really saw the point. If my wife was out there, waiting, of trying with anyone else.”   
  
“You felt married,” she says. It isn’t uncommon at all. She didn’t feel married, but until Gale kissed her out in the woods, the day before his pairing ceremony, she had never spent much time thinking about it at all.   
  
“Yeah,” he says. “Kinda guess I was.”   
  
“Well, you did toast with me all those years ago,” she jokes. “Maybe it’s time I do my half of the ceremony.”   
  
He swallows hard. That’s the only part of a marriage that the Capitol doesn’t have control over. And here she is, telling him she wants it. “This has gotta be a dream,” he says quietly.


	7. epilogue

She has everything worked out by the time Prim proclaims him to be healed. Apparently, he does, too.   
  
“You know I have to go, right?” Peeta asks, grimacing a little when he puts weight on his leg.   
  
She shakes her head. “You don’t _have_ to do anything,” she says. “So . . . what? You’re ready to just waltz right back in there?”  
  
“I would call it _waltzing_ ,” he says, squaring his shoulders stubbornly. “But you’ve been taking care of me and you haven’t had a full day in the woods since. Even if we _could_ cure the meat for winter, there’s not gonna be enough time to gather everything we’ll need. You’re going to have to let me go.”   
  
“I can’t,” she protests. “Madge is having her baby soon, and she already told me that she’s going to hire me to help then. She doesn’t have any experience with kids. And Hazelle – she’s getting money from Gale’s wages at the Mayor’s office, so she’s letting me take on a few of her clients. Do their laundry. She’s going to show me how.”   
  
“I’m not going to let you do everything,” he says. “That’s not fair.”   
  
“I didn’t say you were. I’ve worked this out, Peeta. You’re gonna help me trade. I’m gonna teach you to gather.  And we can run a table at the Hob if we need to.”   
  
“You’re determined, aren’t you?” he asks.   
  
She nods. “We’ll be okay. We have to be okay.”   
  
They are. Because they face it together, and she gets the feeling that they could take on anything that way. 

 

-The End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.... That's Canary in the Coalmine. Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, left kudos, sent me messages, and so on. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to Bethanie (Gentlemama on Tumblr) for betaing for me at the very last minute and for helping infinitely with the title. And to Swishy and all of her followers for convincing me that this fic was one that needed to be continued. 
> 
> There's a teeny tiny little Gadge prequel that I posted ages ago (The World Owes Us Nothing), so if the concept seems familiar, then that's why. Okay thank you for reading and if you want to be ahead of the curve next time I post a fic then you should consider following me on tumblr. I'm arollercoasterthatonlygoesup over there as well. :)


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